"Sheri S. Tepper - The True Game 1 - King's Blood Four" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tepper Sherri)

come morning, for we put on our Festival garb and masks while it was still cold. Yarrel smoothed the
ribbons for me, saying they made a lovely fall of color. We had sewn on our bells and made our masks,
and as soon as it was full light we were away, our feet pounding new thunder out of the old bridge.
Yarrel's ribbons were all green, so I could pick him from the crowd. All the tower boys wore ribbons and
bells which said, "Student here, student here, hold him harmless for he is yet youngтАж" Thus we could
thieve and trick during the time of Festival without hindrance, though it were best, said the Masters, to do
it in moderation.. And we did. We were immoderately moderate. We ate pork pies stolen from stalls and
drank beer pilfered from booths until we were silly with it. Long chains of revelers wound through the
streets like dragon tails, losing bits and adding bits as they danced to the music blaring at every street
corner, drums and horns and lutes and jangles, up the hill and down again. There were Town girls and
School girls and Outside girls to tease and follow and try to snuggle in corners, and in the late, late
afternoon Yarrel and one of the girls went into a stable to look at the horses and were gone rather longer
than necessary for any purpose I could think of. I sprawled on a pile of clean straw, grinning widely at
nothing, sipping at my beer, and watching as the sun dropped behind the town and the first rockets
spangled the dark.
The figure which came out of the dark was wholly strange, but the voice was perturbingly familiar.
"Peter. Here you are, discovered in the midst of the multitude. Come with me and learn what Festival
food should be!"


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 KING'S BLOOD FOUR - Sheri S. Tepper

For a moment I wanted to say that I would rather wait for Yarrel, rather just lie on the straw and look at
the sky, but the habit of obeying that voice was too much for me. I staggered to my feet, feeling shoddy
and clumsy beside that glittering figure with its princely helm masked in sequins and gems. We went up
the hill to a lanterned terrace set with tables where stepped gardens glimmering with fountains sloped
down into green shade. There was wine which turned into dizzy laughter and food to make the pork pies
die of shame and many sparkling gamesmen gathering out of the darkness to the table where my friend
held court, the tall Demon and the Tragamors, from Bannerwell, as Yarrel had said, all drinking together
until the night swirled around us in a maelstrom of light and sound.
Except that in the midst of it all, something inside me got up and walked away. It was as though Peter left
Peter's body lolling at the table while Peter's mind went elsewhere to look down upon them all from some
high, clean place. It saw the Demon standing at the top of one flight of marble stairs, one Tragamor
halfway down another flight, and the other brooding on the lower terrace beside a weeping tree. Torches
burning behind the Demon threw a long, wing-shaped shadow onto the walkway below where red light
washed like a shallows of blood. Into that space came a lonely figure, masked but unmistakable. King
Mertyn. The warm, night air turned chill as deep winter, and the sounds of Festival faded.
Mertyn looked up to see Mandor rise, to hear him call, "I challenge, King!"
The King did not raise his voice, yet I heard him as clearly as though he spoke at my ear. "So, Prince
Mandor. Your message inviting me to join you did not speak of challenge."
The Peter-who-watched stared down, impotent to move or call. Couldn't the King see those who stood
there? Demon and Tragamor, substance and shade, True Game challenged upon him here, and the very
air alive with cold. King's Blood Four, here, now, in this place and no other, a Measurable Demesne. But
Mandor surely would not be so discourteous. Not now. It was Festival. Drunken-Peter reached a hand,
fumbled at the Prince's sleeve.
"No, No, Mandor. It's notтАжnot courteousтАж" The hand, my hand, was slapped away by an armored
glove, struck so violently that it lay bleeding upon the table before drunken-Peter while the other me
watched, watched.
The King called again. "Is it not forbidden to call challenge during Festival or in a Schooltown, Mandor?